


The Heat of Summer's Garden

by Venturous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cooking, Cunnilingus, F/F, Femslash, Herbology, Hot Older Women, International Day of Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-14
Updated: 2012-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-14 23:24:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7195403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venturous/pseuds/Venturous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long day at Hogwarts Poppy and Pomona cook up something special at home with the help of a little rosemary and garlic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heat of Summer's Garden

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2012 International Day of Femmeslash  
> to the prompt: 'cloves, garlic, rosemary'
> 
> I was clearing out old folders and discovered I've never posted this.

“Poppy. Poppy? Are you here? I’ve brought your order from the Herbarium.” Pomona called out into the nearly empty ward. 

At the far end of the infirmary Nurse Pomfrey emerged from behind the privacy curtains of a patient’s bed and smoothed her spotless, starched white uniform. When she spied her visitor her face changed just enough for a seasoned observer to notice: upward curl of the mouth, slight crinkle to the eyes, and the lift of her chin. Pomona noticed.

“Thank you so much Pomona. I have so many potions to complete; I’ll need to get help from Severus.“ She smiled as she took the brown paper bag.

She rustled, all those starched layers of crisp white cotton, and now that she’s close Pomona caught her scent: clean, ‘medicinal-but-not-unpleasant’ aura under laid by sweet skin and sheets dried in the sun. Pomona checked her impulse to sweep Nurse Pomfrey into her arms. She doesn’t know who might be behind the curtain, and they should maintain a profession demeanor, at least for now.

Poppy peered into the bag. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” She upended it and spread the bounty out onto the table. What spilled out was the usual order: plantain leaf and red clover blossom, nettle and comfrey, eye-bright and tansy. But there was more - a large bouquet of rosemary, another of Genovese basil, two fat bulbs of garlic and a rustling packet.

“Why all the rosemary, dear?” Poppy smiled at Pomona. “I only need a branch or so. And what’s this?” She poured a few of the spikey cloves onto her palm.

Pomona leant to place a chaste kiss on her cheek, and whispered: “I plan to cook for you tonight, my love.” She took the packet of cloves, the basil and garlic and most of the rosemary and straightened up, reapplying her professional visage. Then she winked.

A sweet blush rose on Poppy’s cheeks and she looked down with a demure gesture that Pomona knew was quite genuine. For all her knowledge of the body and its workings, and for all her skills as a lover, Poppy Pomfrey was still capable of the most adorable schoolgirl shyness.

“I look forward to it, Pomona.”

=====

When Poppy arrived home she was greeted at the door with a kiss from Pomona, still wiping her hands on her apron. Poppy tucked a strand of her lover’s hair behind her ear, admiring Pomona’s flushed face and soft rose-colored lips.

“You taste like tomatoes. Have you been nibbling?” Her eyes crinkled with delight and she leant in for a nibble of her own on Pomona’s neck.

And received a swat for her troubles. “I’m making sauce, I had to taste it!”

Pomona’s tomatoes were legendary; warm, red-orange and bursting with juice and tangy flavor. The humble vegetable was always sublime if it came from Pomona’s garden.

Red sauce bubbled in the big cauldron, fragrant steam wafting from the surface. “Did you remember the elf-made wine?”

Poppy uncorked the bottle and levitated the best goblets to the table. With a swish and flick, she sent the linens, dishes, and silver to the table. She filled a goblet and, admiring it’s ruby colour, turned to the stove. “Pour la chef!” she announced, handing it to the cook.

Pomona’s dicing was lightning fast: she minced more garlic extra fine, sliced basil leaves into tiny threads of pungent green. The rosemary she plucked but a few leaves for her sauce, and exactly three cloves went in. If you get those in your plate, that’s good luck!

“Yes, but you still have so much rosemary, dear. “

Pomona gestured to the small cauldron simmering over a green flame, filled with a shimmering oil, warm enough to swirl with heat. Into this vessel she counted a dozen cloves. She then took three springs of rosemary, bruised each leaf and added them one by one.

“I’m making us sensuous oil, my dear. The garlic and tomato will inspire us to love, and the warm and spicy oil will awaken our skin.”

They dined under the floating candles, savouring the delicious rich flavours and fine wine, all the while looking forward to bedtime. 

====================

“Oh, mmmm, yessss.” Poppy purred as Pomona’s hands slid up her spread thighs, working a deep and skillful massaging stroke that ended just shy of her warm and open vulva. She squirmed and thrust toward Pomona’s retreating hands, moaning softly.

“Not yet,” Pomona murmured. “Not yet, Poppet.” She wrapped her strong fingers around Poppy’s ankles and leant back, pulling her lover’s legs straight and shaking them. Poppy moaned her appreciation for Pomona’s massage skills, as she had already experienced a mellow yet stimulating back rub, with the warm clove rosemary oil poured and smoothed into her skin. Pomona always began gently, smoothing, stroking, and relaxing her, before proceeding to work deeper into her muscles. She had worked Poppy’s gluteus muscles with her broad strong hands grabbing each lobe of her handsome ass and kneading and squeezing, then spreading her cheeks and dribbling the spicy oil down her crack until Poppy begged to turn over, having rutted into the bedclothes long enough. So now, this teasing vigorous working of her legs, as wonderful as it was, wasn’t enough. She needed more.

As Pomona stroked up her calves, around her knees and started on the thigh stroke again, Poppy threw her legs around her lover’s shoulders and squeezed her like a python, pulling Pomona’s face toward her sex and arching off the bed.

“Toouuucchh me” she babbled. “Lick me, put your hands IN me! For Venus’ sake, love, I can’t wait any longer!”

Now most folk knew Poppy Pomfrey as a prim and tidy nurse, who always kept herself and her infirmary in perfect order. The staff and students of Hogwarts never thought of her as having particularly lovely hair, because they had never seen her like this: hair unpinned, spreading on the sheets, rosy chestnut in the candle light. She writhed sensuously on their bed and sighed.

Pomona drank in the fragrance of her lover: warm, spicy with rosemary clove and hot with Poppy’s own juicy scent. She nuzzled her lover’s fur and nipped at her, barely grazing her labia, continuing to tease and taunt. Her arms were pinned by Poppies strong thighs, so she burrowed her nose into her cleft and inhaled the heated musk. Her tongue couldn’t help but follow, probing, pushing through the wet folds, slurping obscenely. She opened her mouth wide and sucked in as much flesh as she could, laving deep with her wicked tongue.

Meanwhile she twisted to free herself, and when she felt the iron thigh grip loosen just a bit, she shoved Poppy’s thighs wide apart and down, then seized her waist and twisted them around until Poppy sat atop her chest, wet, squirming and surprised.

Poppy dove for her mouth scooting her hips back leaving a slick trail until they were mons to mons. She ground against her as she kissed her own taste out of Pomona’s mouth, licking her chin and throat. Then she seized a handful of one lush breast and suckled the other with enthusiasm. Now Pomona bucked and moaned, pushing her hips up for more contact. “Oh,” she breathed. “Yesssss”

They wrestled around, slick with sweet spicy oil, sweat and cunt liqueur, hands reaching, stroking, grasping and mouths open gobbling sweet skin.

Poppy had slithered down between Pomona’s thighs and was toying with her fur, petting and parting the slit and sliding a finger up and down the slickness, not going deep, just teasing. She stroked down and massaged Pomona’s perineum and pushed a finger at her back entrance, teasing, tempting, toying. She’d need more oil to go further.

Pomona moaned and sighed, so Poppy returned to her post above her lovers heated cleft, watching the wetness sparkle in the reflected light. She parted the lips and exposed the wet pink heart of her lover, gusting a breath, watching Pomona clench and squeeze out even more silky wetness.

She poured a bit of oil on her hand, not that there was any need for lube, but for it’s tingling heat, and dove in face first, licking, laving, tasting, sucking, swimming through sensuous folds to her clit, at the same time driving three fingers deep into her lover. Pomona groaned and lifted her hips, opening for more. Poppy obliged and fucked her roughly with her hand, rotating her wrist and probed the roof of her cunt, seeking that hard place that craved a good rub. Her lover could release quite a flood given the right attention.

Her mouth suckled that sweet clit, then mouthed it broadly, then flicked the heated bud. Pomona was panting now, speechless, strong breathy moans coming in rhythm, “huh, huh, huh.” Pomona threw her legs around her lover’s shoulders and they rocked together. They both felt Pomona’s orgasm building in her surging hips and uneven breath, and Poppy slurped and thrust with joy, welcoming the shuddering waves that overtook them. 

She kept her hand gently pushing as Pomona’s pulsing waves began to ebb. Her tongue kept a soft warm presence on Pomona’s clit, but she didn’t want to over-stimulate the sensitive nub. Pomona was unclenching her hands, releasing Poppy’s hair, smoothing it, brushing her face, and finally pulling her, inviting her up for a long salty kiss. 

 

When Pomona was able to speak in coherent sentences again, she murmured almost drunkenly, “My beloved, I was supposed to make you scream with pleasure tonight.”

Poppy kissed her lovers lush mouth and pulled back bit, and smiling, she admired the flushed face, damp grey hair curling a halo around the face she so loved. “Well, my darling. The night is still young.”


End file.
